


Anima Gemini

by lovelorn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Time Travel, Blood Magic, Dark Magic Rituals (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelorn/pseuds/lovelorn
Summary: Seven years after the war, Hermione Granger lives a quiet life devoted to her work. One day she discovers something that threatens to throw the wizarding world off balance. And she can't resist him.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 5
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione crumpled up her parchment with a disgruntled huff and hurled it into the Veil. The tattered black curtain rippled gently as the wad of paper passed through.

"Bugger," she said, her frustrated hiss echoing across the empty room. "I probably shouldn't have done that."

For several months Unspeakable Granger had been trying to discover an arithmantic equation that could predict the Veil's magic. She knew many had tried to decode its ancient magic before, but she was the Brightest Witch of Her Age; surely she had a decent chance.

Though it wasn't her specific job duty, Harry had pulled some strings to allow her to work on this special side project. Hermione had a fascination with the Veil that she couldn't explain. Whenever she entered the Death Chamber, every cell in her body seemed to tingle, and her mind raced with possibilities of unraveling its magical code.

She walked up to the Veil, the click of her sensible heels reverberating through the Chamber. She stood right before it and heard its familiar faint murmurings. In the beginning, the sense of presence behind the shimmering curtain unsettled her. Now, it was a familiar friend.

"Tell me your secrets." She whispered.

"Hermione," a faint voice murmured back.

Hermione jumped back as if shocked. Had she heard it correctly?

She was just being silly. She had been up all night thinking about number charts, it must have been some delusion of her sleep-addled mind.

"Tempus," she said in a shaky voice.

The time 23:47 appeared in front of her in shining gold numerals. Hermione hadn't meant to spend four hours studying the Veil. Time seemed to disappear when she was alone in the Death Chamber.

Gathering her things, Hermione left the Death Chamber and walked into the empty corridor of the Department of Mysteries, lost in thought. She didn't notice the way the Veil billowed when she turned her back.

—

The next morning, Hermione awoke drenched in cold sweat. Her head was pounding and her throat cracked with dryness. She stood up, groaning as her stomach turned, and ambled her way into the kitchen.

The flat was small, but seemed much bigger now that Ron had moved out. He had taken most of the furniture and wall decorations. Hermione had hated them when they were there, but now the room seemed barren. She didn't miss Ron much, or even get jealous of the many socialites he was photographed with in the Daily Prophet. She had her work and that was enough.

Hermione gulped down a glass of water and put a kettle on the stove. She could have made her tea magically, but the muggle way comforted her somehow. As the water boiled, she heard the sound of the Floo coming from the other room. She raked a hand through her unruly curls and and walked into the living room. Ginny's face was beaming through the fireplace. Even through the flames, her face looked flushed and plump, aglow with the joy of her second pregnancy.

"Hermione!"

"Hi, Ginny," she replied weakly. "How are you doing?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Ginny said in a singsong voice.

Hermione frowned.

"Er… am I?"

"We were supposed to go shopping for my baby shower today, remember? I need a new gown for the pictures."

"Oh, bollocks. I completely forgot. I'm so sorry, Ginny."

Hermione sighed at the prospect of spending hours at Madam Malkin's.

"I'm really not feeling well. I must have caught something at work. Is there any way we can reschedule?"

Ginny rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"It's fine, Hermione. I'll just go with Lav."

Hermione grimaced. Lavender was rumored to be one of Ron's new toys.

"Is there anything you need? I've probably got some pepper-up or cough draught lying around."

"That's all right, I should be fine. Thank you, though".

"Alright then. Harry and James say hello!"

Hermione smiled.

"Tell them I miss them".

The two girls said goodbye and Hermione was left staring out the window at the overcast London sky.

—

For the rest of the weekend, Hermione was bed-ridden, seemingly getting worse every hour. She had performed several diagnostic spells and could find nothing wrong with her. The bottles of pepper-up potion she gulped down barely seemed to help. When Monday morning rolled around, Hermione decided she'd go to work anyway. There was no way she could feel worse.

Hermione Floo'd into the Atrium and became overwhelmed with the flurry of activity. Walking quickly past the security desk, she kept her head down, letting her curls shield her face. Even seven years after the war, she was somewhat of a celebrity and couldn't go out in public without being recognized. She was thankful no one spoke to her in the lift.

As Hermione stepped into the circular room of the Department of Mysteries, the pounding headache that had been plaguing her all weekend immediately subsided. She was too relieved to question the coincidence.

Hermione entered her small cubicle and sat down at her desk, and the Department Head Miranda Firestone strode in right behind her.

"Ah, Hermione, just the person I was looking for," Firestone said, plopping an impossibly thick scroll onto Hermione's cluttered desk, "We just got these documents from the Institute of Durinn. Incredibly detailed ancient runework. I'll need a complete translation by the end of the day."

"I'll get right on that," Hermione replied with a tight smile.

Unlike Harry and Ron, Hermione had returned to Hogwarts after the war to finish her NEWTs. She had worked her way up from the bottom to a fairly important position at the Department of Mysteries. But the way Firestone saw her, she was just a glorified intern. Most of her days consisted of menial filing work rather than the real magical research she had hoped to be doing.

With a dispassionate sigh, Hermione unrolled the delicate parchment and began the tedious work of translation.

An hour after her coworkers had already left, Hermione finally finished her work. She magically filed it to her supervisor's mailbox and giddily scurried down the hall to the Death Chamber. Even though Hermione still felt feverish, she had brainstormed some new calculations that she had been missing before.

Hermione swung open the heavy door, and almost collapsed from the sudden cooling sensation that enveloped her body. She felt light, refreshed, and awakened for the first time in days. Stepping into the room felt like a cool, moist rag on her hot forehead.

"What in Godric's name…" Hermione said to herself.

Hermione racked her brain for a magical or medical explanation of the immediate relief of her symptoms, but couldn't think of anything. She would have to ask Hannah Abott, Neville's girlfriend who was training as a Healer, for any possible explanations.

Hermione gazed at the Veil from across the dark room. It seemed particularly shiny and inviting today. She felt something inside her pull her closer to the stone dais on which it stood.

When Hermione had first seen the Veil in her fifth year at Hogwarts, she hadn't been able to hear its whisperings. Now, she could perceive the quiet murmurs quite clearly, and they seemed to call out to her. She moved closer.

As she climbed the steps of the platform, the voices became louder. Hermione felt a heavy presence, stronger than what she had felt before. She knew she should be cautious, but she felt no fear. She stood directly in front of the Veil now, mesmerized by its gently rippling fabric.

"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione."

The sound of her name shocked Hermione out of her reverie. She jumped back as if burned. This time, she was absolutely sure she had heard her name.

Hermione was unsettled, but fascinated. She scribbled it in her notes for further research. While she often sat on the steps of the dais while doing her calculations, this time, she decided to work further away on the benches below.

—

"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione!"

She was awakened from a strange dream by a voice calling out to her. Hermione shot up, panicked. Harry was standing over her with a curious look on her face.

"Oh. It's you."

"You sound disappointed. I'm hurt," he joked.

Hermione laughed and stretched her sore back. It was then she realized she was lying at the foot of the dais. Was this where she had fallen asleep?

"How did I…."

"You must have fallen asleep here last night. Firestone is looking for you. You'd better get your arse to your desk, she's in a fit."

"Bollocks," Hermione groaned and gathered her things.

Throughout the day, as Hermione worked on her menial tasks, fragments of the dream kept returning to her. Dark, intense eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. A pang of intense desire. And cool, smooth scales slithering across her skin. She recalled these flashes sensation, but couldn't quite piece the dream together.

Hermione decided not to visit the Death Chamber that evening. After another late night at work, all she wanted to do was slip into a hot bath with a muggle romance novel.

At home, Hermione turned the faucet on and stripped off her clothes. As the water ran, she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were tired, face pale and drawn. She looked like she hadn't been eating or sleeping very well, which she hadn't. Hermione closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she could have sworn she saw a flash of black in her honey brown irises.

—

In the middle of the night, Hermione awoke with a raging fever. She leaned off the edge of the bed and violently emptied the contents of her stomach. She managed to wandlessly clean the mess before stumbling out of bed.

Hermione knew she had to get to St. Mungo's. There had to be something wrong with her, some dark curse or magical malady that she couldn't recognize. She threw on a robe, tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped in.

"St. Mungo's," Hermione croaked.

Only she never arrived at St. Mungo's.

Hermione found herself in the gilded hallway outside the Atrium. Without thinking, she knew where to go. With strength her body did not have, she staggered down the hallway into the lifts, and pounded level "9". She almost vomited again as the lift plummeted down to the lowest level. Hermione stumbled out of the elevator and down the hall until she reached the circular room. There, she turned the handle and pushed her body into the Death Chamber.

Unlike last time, relief was not immediate. Hermione had gained some strength from entering the room, but her body still raged with fever. She cried out with pain as she stepped closer to the veil, some unknown force pulling her closer.

When she reached the dais, Hermione crumpled on the steps.

"Please, no, oh Gods, no," she whimpered.

The force seemed to get stronger the closer Hermione got to the Veil. Pushing herself to her feet, she tried to step back, but only lurched forward. One hand reached forward as she climbed the steps on her hands and knees.

Hermione was crying in earnest now. No one had ever touched the Veil and survived. She knew that these would be her last moments. Her body kept moving jerkily until she stood before the veil and watched her hand plunge in. She closed her eyes.

Hermione hadn't expected to feel something on the other side. But there was a hand gripping hers tightly, not pulling her in, but almost trying to pull itself out. In horror, she fell back, yanking the hand and its attached form out. Hermione landed on the ground with a thud, a larger body following on top.

"Hello, Hermione," was the last thing she heard before she lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione's back hurt. During the war, she had sustained injuries to her spine that still flared up on cold days or when it rained. But now, Hermione's whole back was seizing, painful spasms rippling through her muscles. As her mind focused into clarity, Hermione realized her body was splayed on sharp, protruding rocks that dug into her flesh.

Hermione opened her eyes and saw nothing. Black. All she could hear was dripping water and the faint crash of waves from far away. Where the hell was she?

"Ah, you're awake," she heard a man's voice say. "My apologies, I didn't mean to tumble into you like that. You took quite a fall."

His voice reverberated around the what she now realized was a cave. She moved her head around furiously, struggling to find the source of the noise.

She could just barely make out a tall figure in the dark. The man whispered Lumos, and his face was illuminated.

The man was incredibly handsome. He had penetrating grey eyes, a straight nose, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. The man had pale complexion and dark wavy hair, which was disheveled but didn't detract at all from his good looks. He was very tall, towering over her prone form. Hermione couldn't help but notice he was shirtless, and her eyes traveled down over his athletic physique.

"Who…who are you?" Hermione mumbled, still slightly delirious.

The man smiled, which sent annoying butterflies to the pit of her stomach. She mentally chastised herself for focusing on something silly as good looks when she was at risk.

"Don't you recognize me, Hermione?" The man asked, smiling at her. "I suppose you may never have seen me like this, but I'm sure you would have heard tell of my looks."

Hermione managed to sit up, groaning as her neck audibly cracked.

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell, she mumbled.

Hermione shoved her hand in her pockets and came up empty.

"Wait," she said, "where's my wand?"

The man smiled, and she realized it was her wand that was lighting the cave.

"Give that back." She demanded.

"I'm afraid I can't," the man said. "Not until I can find my own."

Hermione was about to give him a stern dressing-down about stealing wands, until she realized she was still in her pajama top and panties. She blushed and tried to cover herself.

"I've also had to borrow your dressing gown to transfigure myself some trousers," the man said.

Hermione noticed he was wearing silky black pants, the same material as her satin robe.

"I was in quite a state of undress when I came out of the Veil," the man said with a smirk.

A look of confusion overcame Hermione's glare.

"What do you mean, came out of the Veil?" she said. "No one just comes out of the Veil."

"Well, I'm the first. You should record it in your studies."

"How do you know about my studies?"

"I've been watching you, Hermione."

A chill went down the witch's spine.

"You've been feeling a strange pull to be near the Veil, haven't you?" the man said. "A burning sickness that gets worse the longer you're away."

Hermione listened, barely daring to breathe.

"That was me. Pulling your soul to to mine."

The memories flashed back from earlier that night. Her feverish crawl up the steps on the stone warm hand that grabbed hers from behind the Veil.

"It's not possible," she whispered to herself.

"Oh, but Hermione, it is," the man said. "And you are the only one who could have done it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you see, you killed me," he explained. "That is, you destroyed a portion of my soul."

Hermione's heart was beating so hard it hurt. It couldn't be…

"Luckily, I had anticipated this. Years ago, I inoculated that particular fragment of my soul with an ancient preservative magic. While it would not be enough to restore my original form, it conserved a piece of my essence. When destroyed, that piece would then attach itself to a host body."

The man stepped closer to Hermione, and seemed to become even more intimidating.

"The horcrux was destroyed, but the piece of my soul was intact. All it had to do was implant itself into the closest living human at the time of destruction."

The man smiled and crouched down.

"And that, my dear, seems to be you."

Hermione closed her eyes. This couldn't be happening. She watched him die. She knew he was dead.

"So that begs the question, darling" Voldemort said, "who are you, and why did you destroy my horcrux?"

—

As Voldemort explained what happened, Hermione mentally reviewed her options. He was much taller than her, so she had little chance of physically overcoming him. Hermione's only other option was disarming him. The 25-year-old was fairly skilled at wandless magic, but she was worried her weakened physical state had depleted her magical strength. Furthermore, the cave could have wards to prevent magic from unauthorized users. She would have to be smart to get out of this alive.

"Answer my question, witch," Voldemort demanded.

"I've got no idea what you're talking about. I've never heard the term horcrux," Hermione said innocently.

"For such an intelligent which, you're a very poor liar. That's something we'll have to work on."

"Are you mad?" Hermione scoffed, "What makes you think I'm going to work on anything with Voldemort?"

Voldemort's eyes flashed, and Hermione instantly regretted her outburst.

"Ah, so you do know who I am. Your clueless act was becoming tiresome," Voldemort said. "We'll have to work on that temper as well. Gryffindor, perhaps?"

Hermione took a deep breath and calmed herself before making any other mistakes.

"Again, what on earth makes you think would I work on anything with you?"

"You see, Hermione, when a fragment of my soul implanted in you, it became bonded with yours," Voldemort explained. "This kind of soul bond is very old, very dark magic. It is comprehensive and irreversible. Our souls are inextricably linked, physically, spiritually, and even magically."

Hermione's head spun.

"That's not possible. No such magic has ever been attempted."

"Darling, I'm sure you know that Lord Voldemort is beyond the limits of possibility."

"There is no way. Absolutely not."

"You're a clever witch. You of all people should know that soul magic cannot be reversed."

Hermione felt sick.

"Give me back my wand."

"I will return it as soon as I'm convinced you won't do anything stupid."

Hermione gazed at him impassively.

"So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what you know."

"You are out of your mind if you think I'd ever help you," Hermione scoffed. "I should Avada you right there."

"Well then, darling," Tom said smoothly, "you would effectively be killing yourself too. You see, our fates are now linked."

Voldemort Transfigured a glass, filled it with water, and handed it to her. She gulped it down reluctantly.

"Stray too far, and you'll find your magic just as diminished as mine."

"What if I'm willing to die to stop you?"

"You and I both know that's not true, Hermione."

Irritated, Hermione realized he could be right. Maybe she wasn't as noble as she'd thought.

"You're wrong," she lied. "But just because our souls are bonded doesn't mean I'm going to help you."

"I think you'll find that helping me is in your best interest. Here's your wand," Voldemort said, offering it to her.

"Oh, and before you go," he said, "I think I'll be going by Tom now."

"Yeah right, Voldemort". Hermione said, her voice trailing away as she Apparated out.


	3. Chapter 3

_August 20th, 2004_

Hermione woke up in bed the next morning, three minutes before her magical alarm was set to ring. Her tongue felt dry and swollen. She rubbed her eyes until her blurred vision began to shift into clarity.

Hermione lifted her aching body out of bed. She ambled to the kitchen and put pot of tea on the stove, before starting to untangle the mass tumbleweed that was her hair. The witch wasn't sure why her back was so tender. The remnant of some odd dream flashed into her mind, but disappeared just as quickly. She went through her morning ritual, idly fretting over what humiliatingly dull task Firestone had in store for her.

It wasn't until Hermione had a fistful of floo powder held over the fireplace that she remembered.

_Her spine felt like it was being crushed by stones. She could barely focus on the words of the man in front of her. She didn't have her wand. Where was her wand?_

_"The horcrux was destroyed, but the piece of my soul was intact. All it had to do was implant itself into the closest living human at the time of destruction."_

_Danger sirens wailed in Hermione's brain._

_The man smiled and crouched down._

_"And that, my dear, seems to be you."_

_She wanted to cry. This wasn't happening. It wasn't possible. How…?_

_"So that begs the question, darling" Voldemort said, "who are you, and why did you destroy my horcrux?"_

Hermione gasped as the memory struck her. It was a horrible nightmare. Wasn't it?

There was no time to think about this. She was going to be late for work.

"Fuck", she grumbled, and let the floo powder fall.

* * *

Firestone was already on Hermione's tail as the witch hurried to her desk.

"Finally, Granger". Firestone barked.

Hermione's eyes shot to her magical clock. It was two past nine.

"Sorry," she muttered bitterly, settling into her chair.

"I've a load of files I need you to go over," The brunette witch dropped a stack of parchments on Hermione's desk.

"Right, thanks. I'll get right on it" she said.

"Have them on my desk by noon," Firestone said, already halfway out the door.

Hermione sighed and began reviewing the parchment. It was an incredibly dull, decades-old report on some failed experiment in the Love Chamber. She gulped down a cup of coffee within minutes, but even caffeine couldn't stop her mind from wandering to that haunting memory.

Hermione knew it had to be a dream. Voldemort was dead. Everything was fine.

She stepped into the loo to splash some water on her face, then went back to work.

Hermione noticed her skin felt tight and itchy from the cold water. She rifled in her purse for a Muggle moisturizer and slathered it on her skin. Somehow, the thick cream seemed to make it worse. And the more she scratched, the more the itch seemed to spread across her whole body.

Hermione frantically scratched her arms until they were raw and pink. When she saw crimson droplets of blood surface on her wrists, she slammed her hands down on her desk.

What was she doing?

Her mind felt thick and delirious. She just needed to rest her eyes for one moment…

* * *

_Everything was black. She could hear nothing but the gentle drip of water that echoed throughout the cave._

_Then, a voice pierced the darkness._

_"Hermione…"_

* * *

"Granger."

Hermione awoke with a gasp. Her body was drenched in sweat. She pushed soaked strands of hair away from her face and looked up to see Firestone looming over her. Her boss sneered as she observed Hermione's disheveled appearance.

"Is that your saliva on the Fawley account?"

"Ms. Firestone, I am so sorry," Hermione said, "I haven't been feeling well lately. I-I must have fallen asleep."

"I really can't believe this. The lack of professionalism here is astounding," Firestone scoffed.

Around the small office, Hermione's colleagues were turning in curiosity. Hermione's cheeks burned.

"Again, I'm so sorry-"

"Just go home," Firestone interrupted, "your _work_ is clearly not needed today."

Tears pricked at Hermione's eyes. She gathered her things and rushed to the elevator, head lowered so no one would notice her silent weeping.

Hermione stepped out of the elevator into the crowded Atrium, and spotted a familiar face.

"Harry! Wait!"

Harry turned around.

"Hermione, hi…" he said.

The smile slipped off Harry's lips as he noticed her distress.

"You look…are you okay?"

"No," she said, and took a shuddering breath. "Harry… I think Voldemort could be back."

The world seemed to stop for a moment for both of them. Harry's features set into a grim expression.

"Let's not talk about this here."

The wizard grabbed Hermione's arm firmly, so hard it almost hurt. He led her to the floo area, stated his address, and stepped into the fire.

The two friends landed in the Potters' living room.

The Potter house was warm and well-lit. Their living room was lined with a lush Turkish carpet and painted a muted, rust-colored red. In front of the fireplace stood a large over-stuffed sofa, where Hermione could picture sweet family moments. It reminded her of a grown-up, more tasteful Gryffindor common room. The smell of onions and sausage wafted from the kitchen, stirring Hermione's empty stomach. The sounds of James' babbling were audible over the hiss of the stove.

"Hermione!" Ginny rushed into the living room, waddling slightly.

"Ginny, so good to see you," Hermione said flatly, giving her a stiff hug.

"I'm a house, aren't I!" the pregnant witch laughed, rubbing her belly. "This one's due to arrive any day now."

"Yes, so exciting," Hermione said.

"Are you hungry? I've been cooking up a big sausage and vegetable stew, Harry's favorite!"

"Actually, I can't stay. I just needed to speak to Harry about something," Hermione said, giving him a meaningful look.

"About what?" Ginny asked, but was interrupted by James calling " _Mama!"_

"One moment love!"

The redhead scurried into the kitchen, leaving Hermione and Harry alone.

Harry turned to her gravely. He took a seat on the sofa and motioned for her to join him.

"Tell me what happened," Harry said.

Hermione shook her head and rubbed her swollen face.

"Last night, I…No, I can't explain it. You'll think I'm mad,"

"Try."

"Well, I woke up in the middle of the night with this strange dream. I felt sick, absolutely awful. I tried to floo to St. Mungo's but… somehow, I ended up at the Ministry. And, you know that I've been doing research on the Veil."

Harry nodded. Hermione could see his mind struggling to make the connection.

"Well, I walked into the Death Chamber and… something overcame me. I couldn't control myself, Harry, I was so afraid."

Harry grabbed her hand, concerned.

"Next thing I knew, I just woke up in this…cave… and there he was. Not like I remember him. He was different, younger."

"Who, Hermione?"

Hermione swallowed thickly.

"It was him. Tom Riddle." She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"How did you know it was him?"

"He told me. He didn't know who I was."

Harry let out a deep exhale.

"That could have been anyone," he said, "they could have been lying to scare you. You don't know what he looked like."

"Harry, I just know. How else would someone come out of the Veil?"

Harry looked at her with worried eyes.

"Hermione… No one can come out of the Veil."

"Believe me Harry, I of all people know that. But I saw it happen."

The wizard looked away, visibly uncomfortable.

"Are you sure? You said you haven't been sleeping lately. Muggle psychologists say lack of sleep can have odd effects on the mind…"

"I know. I thought I was hallucinating, too. But I know I saw him, Harry".

Harry shook his head.

"Honestly, Hermione. It sounds like an especially vivid nightmare. Maybe you remembered the stories I told you of visiting the cave with Dumbledore? I've had plenty of horrible dreams since the war."

"No, I swear to you. I know it sounds mad, but I saw him," Hermione insisted, her voice breaking.

"Okay…" Harry trailed off, "come with me tomorrow to the Aurors department. We'll file a report of your kidnapping, and see what they say."

"But I wasn't…"

Suddenly, a blinding pain shot through Hermione's temples. She clutched her forehead and inhaled sharply. Harry placed comforting arm around her shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

Hermione shook his arm off and stood up.

"I'm fine, I just need the loo for a moment…"

Hermione ambled into the foyer, away from Harry's pitying eyes.

She stepped into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

_She could feel him._

_She needed him._

Hermione clutched her wand. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew somehow she would end up in the right place. Hermione took a deep breath and Disapparated.

* * *

Hermione stumbled as her feet met cold, squishy earth. She was in some sort of graveyard, maybe in the English countryside. The witch spun around aimlessly, with her wand at the ready, as she surveyed her surroundings. After a few moments, she noticed a tall, pale figure in the distance, leaning against some sort of stone formation. She held her wand out, barely daring to breathe. He walked towards her.

"You lasted longer than I expected. Color me impressed," Tom said. He stopped a good distance away from her, close enough to see the smug expression on his face.

"Stop fucking following me!" Hermione screamed.

Tom gazed back at her impassively. His calm enraged her, and she felt her magical energy flow through her wand.

" _Sectumsempra!_ "

Tom sidestepped the curse easily.

"First rule of dueling, Hermione. Never cast while emotional,"

She kept her wand pointed at him. The wood shook visibly as her hands trembled.

"Go away. Just leave me alone," Hermione shouted.

Tom stepped closer.

"I can't leave you alone."

Hermione fell to her knees. The mud soaked her nice work trousers, seeping in and chilling her feverish skin. She wondered how much longer she could withstand this.

"What do you want?"

Tom was right in front of her now.

"I need you to help me repair my corporeal form."

That was not what Hermione was expecting.

"Your…what?"

"Haven't you noticed?" Tom said. He crouched down and offered his hand.

Reluctantly, Hermione reach out to touch him. She gasped. He wasn't as impalpable as a ghost, but his skin has an ethereal quality to it that unsettled her deeply.

"You see, the Veil was only able to store a small part of my essence. I'm still far from mortal."

Hermione listened with rapt attention.

"It will take some incredibly complex spellwork and potion-making to bring me back fully. But I can't very well do that with no wand, no supplies, and no home," Tom hinted.

Hermione let out a sardonic bark of laughter, and stood up.

"How do I get this through your thick skull? I. Will. Never. Help. You."

Tom smirked.

"Well, I'll put it this way. Right now, I am a soulless vapor. Until I reach my corporeal form, the Killing Curse will be ineffective."

Hermione frowned as she processed this information.

"So if you want any chance of killing me, and removing our soul bond, you'll have to help me."

Hermione paused. She pointed her wand at Tom.

"Avada Kedavra".

The sickening green bolt of lightning left her wand. It went right through Tom's torso, hitting a crumbling sculpture behind him. Hermione shrugged.

"Had to make sure you weren't lying."

Tom chuckled.

"I'd expect no less."

Hermione and Tom stared at each other. She sighed. Overwhelmed by exhaustion, her brain failed to produce a solution.

_I'll figure out how to kill him later._

"I'm not going to give you a wand. You can use mine, with close supervision," said Hermione.

A wave of irritation passed over Tom's face, but he nodded.

"I have a cauldron and potions supplies at home. You will work on the potion as I see fit. Again, with supervision. You will keep me informed on the status of the potion so I know you're not brewing anything else."

"This isn't Pepper-Up." Tom snapped. "It is a volatile potion which requires extremely precise timing. I will need access to the potion at all times."

"Well, I suppose you'll need to ask somebody else, then."

Tom exhaled sharply.

"Fine. Is that all?"

"You'll need to find somewhere to sleep."

"But-"

"These are my terms. Are you coming or not?"

Hermione could see the anger roll off of Tom's figure in waves. For a moment, she was almost afraid. But then, he stepped forward and looped his ghostly arm through hers. With a crack, they apparated away.


	4. Chapter 4

Hours later, Hermione had set up a workspace in the middle of her living room. She had a very well-stocked potions supply, including nearly every ingredient used in _Advanced Potion Making_ , and more. Unlike most wizards, she preferred home-brewed potions to store-bought, and would often brew a batch of burn healing paste or cough potion just to calm her mind.

Hermione and Tom had worked together to prepare the first phase of the potion. Fluxweed, knotgrass, and powdered asphodel root were simmering quietly in the brass cauldron, to be left for 80 minutes. Tom had done nothing to arouse her suspicions, which was very suspicious in itself. He was perfectly polite and well-behaved throughout the process. Hermione nearly forgot he was Lord Voldemort, especially since he was dressed in some of Ron's old clothes. She had blushingly insisted he give up the pants that he had transfigured from her black silk nightgown. Now, he was wearing a ratty Quidditch t-shirt and faded jeans. Hermione noticed the clothes fit Tom's body much better than they had Ron's, then suppressed that though to the deepest corners of her mind.

Despite Tom's benign facade, Hermione didn't let her guard down for an instant. Ignoring his respectful cajoling, she had refused to let him hold her wand, performing all necessary charms for the potion. Brewing quietly together, she had almost forgotten the absurd chain of events that had led them here.

As the potion bubbled, Tom scribbled out a list of ingredients he would need in the coming weeks. Hermione watched him, frowning.

"How can you be sure that's accurate?"

"I'm certain. I've got near-eidetic memory," Tom said, looking very pleased with himself.

"Well, I'm not going to have you blow up my flat because you added Bouncing Spider instead of Lacewing Spider. what's the name of the potion? I'll see if I have it in my library."

Tom chuckled.

"Ah, this isn't quite the kind of potion you'll find at Flourish & Blotts."

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Just how dark is this?"

The corners of Tom's lips twitched as he surpassed his trademark smirk. That was all Hermione needed to know. She sighed and pondered for a few moments.

"I happen to have access to a very old library. I'm going to pop over and bring back some potions books. You're not to move an inch, do you understand?"

Tom's jaw twitched, but he nodded.

"Actually, you know what?," Hermione said, " _Incarcerous._ "

Tom let out a sound of indignation as the magical ropes secured him to his chair.

"This is unnecessary," Tom said through gritted teeth. Please unbind me immediately."

Hermione gave him a withering look. His polite pretense was slipping.

"I told you, if we're going to do this, it's going to be by my rules. It'll be back within the hour."

Hermione stood on the pavement in front of 12 Grimmauld Place. A chill went up her spine as she observed the building's eerie facade. Hermione hadn't been here since the War, and just standing on the street brought painful waves of nostalgia crashing over her. She walked up the steps and magically unlocked the heavy, creaking door.

Now that the War was over, 12 Grimmauld Place belonged to Harry, but Hermione and Ron were still Secret Keepers. Clearly, none of them had visited since. The dark entryway smelled strongly of mildew, and every fixture or piece of furniture was covered in a thick layer of dust. Doxies could be heard scuttling in darkened corners, making Hermione's skin crawl.

The house, which had once been so warm and welcoming, only gave her a feeling of foreboding now. Walburga's incessant screaming didn't help, either.

Hermione took a shuddering breath. What was she was doing? Here she stood, back at Grimmauld Place, a refuge during the bitter and bloody war against Voldemort. But this time, Hermione was here to help him.

It made no sense. But nothing else made sense either. Ron, who was supposed to be the love of her life, had left her. Harry and Ginny were moving on without her. Hermione had once dreamed of an illustrious career in magical research, but at 25, she was relegated to menial office tasks and filing. Throughout her whole time in the magical world, Hermione had always had a mission to complete. Now, this was all she had.

For several minutes, the troubled witch stood in the foyer. She considered apparating back to her flat and telling Tom where he could shove it. But she didn't. She continued down the hall and crept upstairs.

Hermione pushed open the heavy, wooden door to the library and was hit by the comforting smell of old books. It overwhelmed her with a wistful nostalgia that brought tears to her eyes.

Hermione perused the shelves for any dark, ancient-looking potions books she could find. After a long search, she finally selected the notorious _Most Potente Potions_ , _Poculum Vetiti_ , and a Romanian book whose title she couldn't pronounce. Hermione had also found her old copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. She had left it there shortly after the war, not wanting to carry the sinister book around with her, and now it would be useful once again.

After leaving the library, Hermione descended a floor into the drawing room. On either side of the fireplace, there were two ornate glass-fronted cabinets, which she remembered having cleaned out in the summer of 1995. Hermione opened up the doors and found it as grimy and doxy-infected as it was ten years ago. On the bottom shelf, she found dusty bottles of potions ingredients, some of which she had never heard of. She grabbed as many as she could and shoved them in her purse.

Before Hermione left, she gave a final look to the house. She would probably never visit again. Hermione thought of all her teenage hopes and dreams, the future that once had seemed so promising. Then, she apparated back home.

* * *

After Hermione apparated out, Tom waited a few moments to make sure she was really gone. With a self-satisfied grin, he waved his bound hands and the magical ropes dissolved. This witch had quite underestimated him, just as he expected.

Though Tom's body was incorporeal, he had found that his magical strength was still fairly strong. Back in his time, Tom had been incredibly skilled with wandless magic, and now it only took a little strength to undo the bindings.

When Hermione had left him in the cave, Tom wasn't completely sure what had happened. Behind the Veil, he had hovered sort of dreamlike half-consciousness for several years. Several weeks ago, Tom started to feel a magnetic presence. _Hermione_. The bond between their souls was so powerful, his being called out to hers with every ounce of energy he had. And somehow, Hermione had heard him and saved him.

The first thing Tom had needed to know was the current year. The last thing he remembered was murdering that old bat, Hepzibah Smith, in 1955. Tom assumed the true version of himself was dead, and shuddered at the uncanniness of it all.

Tom had been surprised Hermione was so skeptical of him. She had known his true name- Voldemort- so he must have held some degree of power in her era. Yet somehow, he had failed.

He had walked several miles into a Muggle town, and dug through a trash bin until he found a newspaper. What he saw made his head swim. The year was 2005. It didn't sound real.

Tom didn't have anywhere to go, so he went where was familiar. It took nearly all his strength, but he managed to Apparate into the old graveyard where his father was buried. He rested there in a strange half-sleep, until he awoke in torment. It was an indescribable pain, like every cell in his body was imploding on itself.

Tom had lain against an old statue for hours, delirious with fever, until he heard the crack of Apparition. His symptoms abated immediately. _She was here._

Before he left, he had made sure to grab a handful of earth from his father's grave.

Upon entering Hermione's flat, Tom's first mission was to find more information on this era. So when he freed himself from the bounds, he made a beeline towards the tall, mahogany bookshelf in the corner of her sitting room.

Though his heart wasn't quite beating, he still felt a throb in his chest as he perused the bookcase. One title in particular caught his eye- a book entitled _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. He pulled it out of the bookshelf, and skimmed the table of contents.

There. _Voldemort's Rise_. So he had been powerful!

His vaporous blood pounded as he processed the implications. But he had no time to think. Tom didn't want to waste precious magical energy, so he manually rearranged the bookshelf to hide the empty space. He shoved the book under the threadbare rug by his chair, where he could more easily reach it.

Tom took a deep breath to steady his nerves and peeked into Hermione's bedroom.

The room was much unlike typical girls' rooms from his time. The room was barren, save a queen size bed with a simple grey comforter, and a modern-looking bedside table. He stepped into the room and went through the bedside table. Earplugs, a bottle of what he assumed was Dreamless Sleep, and a muggle book.

He opened the closet door and, rather than an array of frilly dresses, found a sea of plain-colored pantsuits, cardigans, and trousers. He raised his eyebrows. This Hermione was a bit of a dullard.

Something caught Tom's eye on the top shelf. He felt around for a minute, until he grasped something long and solid. Tom pulled his hand out to reveal a long, slightly bent wand with sinister-looking etchings carved into the wood.

" _Lumos_ ," Tom cast.

A blinding white light surged from the tip of the wand. Tom extinguished it immediately with satisfaction. It worked beautifully.

Hermione was a very strange witch indeed. Why did she have a spare wand lying around? In his time, at least, having another wizard's wand meant only one thing.

Moving quickly, Tom left Hermione's bedroom and shut the door quietly. He retrieved _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ from under the rug, magically shrunk it, and hid it in the pocket of the jeans Hermione had given him. Then, with the Sticking Charm, Tom attached the wand to his side. He hoped to the gods she wouldn't notice the outline underneath the baggy t-shirt. Finally, Tom sat back into the chair, and waved a hand over his body. The magical bindings coiled around his limbs. Then, he waited.

* * *

Hermione apparated into her living room and dropped the old books onto her coffee table.

"You said within the hour," Tom said, with a slight edge of irritation. His grey eyes pierced her through an errant wave that had fallen into his face.

Hermione swallowed. She still wasn't used to how attractive he was. The bashful witch waved her wand, and Tom's bindings were released.

"Well, I'm back now. I found some questionable potions books and a few ingredients too. You're welcome."

"You nearly ruined the potion. The next stirring sequence is in fourteen minutes."

Hermione rolled her eyes threw _Poculum Vetiti_ at him. Tom caught it deftly.

"Here, I assume you can read Latin," Hermione said. "Find the potion you're making or I'm throwing this swamp muck out."

Tom sighed dramatically and began leafing through the worn volume.

"This is an incredibly ancient potion. You can't assume it's going to be recorded in whatever raggedy book you find from the discount bookstore."

Hermione glared.

"For your information, these books come from the library of a respected Pureblood family. not that it even matters."

Tom raised his eyebrows skeptically. Did that mean she was a Mudblood? He said nothing and turned his eyes back to the page. Hermione picked up _Most Potente Potions_ and idly flipped through.

After a few silent minutes, Tom spoke up,

"I've found the potion."

Hermione looked less than convinced.

"Translate it."

"Essentially, it's a potion that restores the corporeal form. It does necessitate a few unsavory ingredients, but otherwise requires no dark magic."

"What about blood magic?"

"No human blood," Tom said.

"I see," Hermione said, grabbing a sheet of parchment. "Tell me the ingredients."

Tom listed off each one while Hermione took notes.

"Okay, most of these I've got," Hermione said, mostly to herself. "I found the crocodile heart and Horn of Bicorn at Grimmauld Place. I suppose I'll be stopping by Knockturn Alley after work tomorrow to pick the rest up."

The magical stopwatch rang. Tom visibly shifted into urgency and reached for a small vial on the worktable.

" I need you to stir as I add the hemlock essence. Now."

Hermione held out her wand and mixed the brew, as Tom poured in the whiteish liquid gingerly. The potion let out a cloud of foul-smelling gas. Hermione gagged.

"Gods, this smells awful. What did you do?"

Tom ignored her, focused on monitoring the potion's change in thickness.

"That's all for now, Hermione. Now the brew needs to simmer for two hours to remove the toxins."

Hermione magically flung open her front door.

"Go."

Tom didn't need to be told twice. He hurried out the door and into the street. When he was out of view of Hermione's flat, Tom pulled out his new wand.


End file.
